


Pallor

by Gipsy_Danger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, field medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gipsy_Danger/pseuds/Gipsy_Danger
Summary: Reyes takes a hit on the field, Jesse has to learn fast.





	

**Author's Note:**

> back from a long hiatus of fanfic to play in the overwatch sandbox.

Jesse coughs at the clearing smoke. His ears ring from gunfire, dizzying and sharp in the unnatural hush that falls over the field. He groans as he gets to his feet, bruises already starting to form on his lower back, aching from where he’d fallen against the collapsed building wall. He puts one hand to a twist of rebar and cement, steadying himself through the coursing vertigo. 

He tries to speak; his mouth is dry with bloody dust. He spits weakly on the ruined earth. 

“Commander?” he calls through the settling ash. His voice is muffled to his own ears. 

A hunched shape moves through the swirling smoke, Jesse crouches, knees snarling protest as he draws his revolver. A breeze whistles through the shattered window, piercing the smoke. The thin bar of greasy sunlight illuminates the filthy barrel of a familiar shotgun. 

“Jesse!” Reyes barks, voice gravelly with the smoke. 

The cowboy leaps to his feet. “I’m here, I’m alright.”

“Get over here, kid.”

Jesse scrambles over the rubble, feeling like a goddamn dog in his haste to reach Reyes’ side. His commander’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder and Jesse squares his shoulders, trying to look like the explosion hadn’t knocked him stupid. 

“Gonna need your help.” 

In the weak stripes of sun, Jesse can see the blood sheeting down Reyes’ arm, the sharp scent of burned skin. His upper arm is a mess. Shrapnel rings the exit wound in a wreck of blood and twisted flesh, blackened with gunpowder burns. Jesse knows the look of a hollow point, the way it shreds, the stink of metal on the wound. And the  _ blood _ .

“Listen to me,” Reyes says, his voice tight with pain. “That son of a bitch nailed an artery. I need you to — _ shit... _ ”

Jesse’s heart catches in his throat, his hand shooting out to Reyes’ side to steady him. His commander’s face is ashen. Reyes sags down to sit against a scorched slab of concrete. Jesse kneels at his side. He swallows the fear crawling behind his tongue, unclipping the medkit from his belt. 

“Good. You’ll need mine too. Help me outta this.” Reyes fumbles one-handed with the zipper of his heavy tac jacket. Jesse grasps Reyes’ collar in one hand and his zipper in the other, pulling the jacket clear of his good arm. 

Reyes shrugs free, gingerly peeling the torn sleeve away from the wound. He sucks a hard breath in through his nose as the fabric catches, Jesse tugs it off the rest of the way. 

“Bottom pocket,” Reyes grits out. He’s packed his first aid kit in clean white linen, the meticulous folds sharp around coiled catgut and tiny sealed packets of painkillers. 

Reyes tears two packets open with his teeth, his throat a trembling line as he tosses them back. He rolls up the shreds of his sleeve, arm held stiffly as he assesses the damage. 

“Water.” Jesse uncaps both canteens, Reyes pours it over the wound, bloody grit running into the dirt. 

Reyes leans back into the cement slab, breathing hard. “Alright,  _ pana _ . Put your gloves on. You ever tie off an artery before?”

Jesse can’t will the tremor from his voice as he the latex squeals over his wrists. “No, sir.”

“Don’t worry, ‘s not hard. You take your clamps — right, just like that. See how they lock? Once you get ahold of the artery — that’ll be the one bleedin’ like a bitch — lock your clamps. Then you tie it off. Got it?”

The back of Jesse’s neck prickles with cold, panicked sweat. He feels like a fucking kid again, like he needs Reyes to hold his goddamn hand, weak and scared and  _ useless _ . 

“Jesse. You got it?”

_ Shit. _ “I...” He tightens his jaw. “Yes.” 

“Good. Get to it.” Reyes pulls the black hem of his tee up, taking a mouthful between his teeth. He nods to Jesse; the gunslinger feels his chest seize up but he nods back, heart roaring in his ears. Jesse clicks his penlight on, metal on his tongue as he clasps it between his teeth. The thin blue beam reflects off the rivulets of blood. His breath shakes but his hand is steady. 

He pushes the nose of the clamps into the wound, digging past sinewy strips of torn flesh. Reyes chokes on a high, thin sound, clutching white-knuckled at the fabric of his trousers. Sweat beads out on his forehead, running against the grime on his skin. 

Jesse leans closer, squinting in the dim. There’s too much blood, he can’t see what he’s doing past the shredded skin. The smell of Reyes’ blood is dizzying, the scent of it coating his throat, gagging him. He grits his teeth, blinking stinging sweat from his eyes. 

Jesse spreads the clamps at the entry point, forcing the wound open wide enough to see. 

Reyes gives a strangled cry, muffled by the makeshift gag. Jesse hesitates, blood on his mouth where he’s bitten through his tongue. Reyes growls, spitting out the wet mess of cotton. His hand flies to his mouth, clamping down on a cry. He tugs the black knit cap from his head, the feeling of heat and constriction too much to bear. 

“Don’t freeze up on me, kid. You’re doing fine. Focus.” 

Jesse digs the clamps in, they feel cruel and unwieldy as pliers in his hand. They snap uselessly once, twice, and finally,  _ finally _ bite down onto the artery. He fumbles his hand free of the hemostats, the clean weight of the steel dragging against the blackened edge of the wound. Reyes chokes on the pain of it, jaw grinding with the effort of silence.

Jesse takes up the thread, brittle in his grip as he winds the first knot around the damaged artery. He can see the pain in his commander’s neck, his composure wrapped in surgical thread. His breathing is hard and deep, the heaving of his shoulders ragged with fatigue. Jesse feels his pulse fall into mirror image. 

His fingertips are white from the loops of thread around his nail beds, the knots catching on his gloves.   

“Two more knots. Just like that.”

The thread is blood-slick in his fingers, but Jesse pulls a pair of knots through the gory heat. There aren’t any scissors in the medkit, Jesse slices the thread with his pocket knife.

“Do I stitch it shut?

Reyes shakes his head tightly, jaw set. “No, just...” He drags in a breath, mopping the sweat from his forehead. “Bandages. Doc’ll want to take a look. Make sure you did alright.”

Jesse unspools a length of bandage, winding it in tight, twining layers around his commander’s arm. 

“There you go.” Reyes’ voice is pinched. “You think you’d want Angela to train you as a medic?”

“No, sir!” 

Reyes laughs, the sound a harsh, ragged mess. “Just teasing you _.”  _ He leans back against the concrete, head tipped back as he catches his breath. 

“You okay, boss?”

“Heh. Better now I’m not bleeding the fuck out.

“You did good, Jesse.”

Jesse grins despite himself, pride swelling in his chest. A pleased flush colors the back of his neck like a sunburn, warm and welcome. 

“Alright,” Reyes says, heaving himself up. “Time to go. Evac’s almost here.”

“Wait. Have you known where they were this whole time?”

Reyes pulls the communicator from his pocket with his good arm. It gives a teasing little chirp. “Yep. But God knows you can’t pay attention during an actual first aid class, so I got creative. Don’t worry, you passed.”

Jesse feels the blood rush to his cheeks in embarrassment, but Reyes just laughs, slinging his good arm over Jesse’s shoulder as they wait for the chopper on the horizon.   
  
  



End file.
